Chapter 3
Ellyn
The pain in my hip has to be obscuring my hearing. Because there’s no way in hell this man just victim shamed me.
Not when I’m naked, sprawled out on my bathroom floor, and in pain.
Also, did I mention that I’m naked?
I blink and look up to see the hulk of a man towering over me.
“Don’t look at me,” I scream, scrambling to try to cover myself with the shower curtain that I ripped down as I fell.
He narrows his hazel eyes, drawing his thick, dark eyebrows together.
“How am I supposed to help you if I can’t look at you?”
Though the question makes sense, I wiggle, still trying to cover my entire body with the curtain.
Huge mistake.
The pain in my right hip and wrist spikes from a throbbing to a searing burn.
“Hssss.” I grimace.
“Stay still, now,” he admonishes. “You’re only going to hurt yourself more. Here, let me—”
“No,” I shout, clutching my injured wrist to my chest, both in an attempt to comfort myself while also ensuring my breasts are covered. “I’m naked.”
“I’ve noticed,” he responds dryly. “But we need to get you some help.”
“My robe.” I point toward my bedroom with my uninjured hand.
He shakes his head before exiting the bathroom.
With his presence gone, I try to breathe through the pain, but with each inhale the throbbing reignites.
A beat later, he returns with my pink, silk robe in one hand and one of my white, fluffy towels in the other.
“Look now, you shouldn’t be doing all of this moving. You could have a broken hip, or worse, a fracture in your spine.”
“My spine is fine.” I try to reach for the robe.
“Are you a doctor?” he asks while unraveling the towel.
“Are you?” I counter.
“No, but I’m the only one here helping you.” He moves closer. “I’m going to cover you with the towel and then help you to put your robe on, alright? Don’t move too much.”
The command in his voice reaches past the pain and embarrassment to hold me in place. I remain as still as possible as he separates me from the shower curtain, while laying the towel across my body.
I keep my attention trained on his face as he does this, watching him avert his eyes to avoid ogling me in my vulnerability.
“Let’s try your left hand first,” he says once the towel covers the entirety of my body.
I inhale his scent when he raises his arms, spreading my robe and lifting it over my head to give me access to push my arm through the sleeve.
He’s a mixture of musk, fresh air, and masculinity.
“There,” he says just above a whisper once my left arm is through the robe. “We’ll leave the right arm free since we don’t know what bones are broken there.”
“I doubt any bones are broken,” I say weakly.
For a split second our eyes meet. The pain falls away for the briefest moment as I look into those hazel eyes surrounded by sun weathered skin from days spent underneath the Texas sun.
“We need to get you to the hospital,” he murmurs.
“What? Hospital? No, I’m …” My words trail off at the withering look he gives me.
“There’s no room for your damn pride right now.” His voice cuts through my argument. “You’re hurt, and we don’t know the extent of your injuries. You called out for help, and I’m the one who answered, so we’re doing this my way.”
He moves around my body, positioning himself at the left side of my body. “Put your arm around my shoulders,” he instructs while simultaneously lifting my uninjured arm to place over his shoulder.
A surprised gasp escapes my lips when he places one strong arm at the small of my back and slides the other underneath my knees.
“What are—” I don’t need to finish the question when he makes it obvious what he’s doing as he lifts me off of the floor in one fell swoop.
Though I’ve lost some weight since my divorce five years ago, and have a regular Pilates and walking routine, I’m still a solid size ten at five-foot-seven. In other words, I’m not exactly petite.
But this man lifts me like he’s picking a pillow up off the floor.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says to my incomplete question.